by Carla Kelly
She was well aware that he had sent the dancers to her in a spirit of mischief but they had been very useful, not only teaching the girls to dance but they had shown her exercises to stretch her leg muscles even more than she had already done over the past weeks, convincing her that she would walk normally if only she continued to apply herself.
Even sending the outrageous Madame Francot to Chantreys had proved a success, for she had not attempted to dress Diana in gowns unsuitable for a respectable hostess, instead she had provided her with fashionable gowns in colours and styles that made the most of her slender figure and unusual colouring.
It had all given her confidence. The confidence to face a house full of guests. To stand up for herself. What advantages had come her way through tangling with the new Lord Davenport! She could not stop her thoughts going back to their encounter in the orangery. It seemed to her that their coming together had been inevitable. Her body tingled with excitement at the very thought of it and although it had been irresponsible, even foolhardy, she could not regret it. She had never before felt anything quite so glorious or exhilarating. It was the sort of feeling poets wrote about, or artists captured with their brushes and oils, but she had never expected to have such an experience. A chuckle escaped her and Alex glanced down.
‘Now what has amused you?’
She clasped his arm, saying impulsively, ‘Oh, Alex, I have so much to thank you for—’
He stopped her.
‘Hush now, we must perform for our guests.’ He lowered his head to murmur in her ear as the footman threw open the drawing-room door. ‘We must talk tonight, once everyone has retired.’
Uncertainty returned. Alex had made her no promises, she had asked for none, but perhaps what had been for her a momentous occurrence had meant very little to him. After all, he was an experienced man of the world. He had had many lovers.
Almost everyone else was gathered in the drawing room when they went in. Mr Wollerton was standing close to the door and turned immediately to greet them.
‘Ah, our host and hostess at last.’ He put up his glass. ‘New coat, Davenport? I like the cut, Weston’s, I would wager.’ He stepped closer. ‘I would have said you were trying to outshine Brummell, but I see you have the Davenport arms on the buttons, and the Beau would not like that. Simplicity is his style, y’know.’
‘He might like it more if he was an earl,’ drawled Alex. ‘The buttons were made for my father. James never wore them, but I thought they would look well on the coat...’
Not by the flicker of an eyelid did Diana show her dismay when Alex walked away with his friend. He was right, they had their duties to perform, but being in company brought home to her the fact that things could never be the same again. She was no longer a maid. She had given herself to Alex wholeheartedly, thrown herself at him. She could not even claim that he had seduced her, she had been quite aware of what would happen if they kissed. Had she not recognised the edge of the precipice? But in that moment of passion the feelings had been so strong, so overwhelming, that it had been impossible to deny them. The world would not see that as any defence, of course. She might not regret giving herself to Alex, but in the eyes of society, she was ruined.
* * *
Dinner taxed Diana to the utmost. Without Alex by her side she felt vulnerable, as if everyone could see how she had changed. She expected disapproving looks and cold stares but her reception was the same as always and that made her feel deceitful. Mrs Peters exclaimed at her misfortune in getting caught in the rain and Diana could not deny it, since her hair was still damp, but it was generally assumed that she had been soaked running back to the house from the orangery and she said nothing to contradict it.
Alex kept his distance. Not by a word or a look did he show that anything had changed between them. Her head told her he was being discreet, but that did not satisfy her heart. Then, when she returned to the drawing room after seeing Meggie and Florence to bed, Alex looked up and smiled at her, and everything was well again.
Lady Frances touched her arm. ‘Do come and sit with me for a while, Miss Grensham.’
Before Diana knew what was happening Frances was leading her across the room.
‘I vow I have not had the opportunity to tell you how much I admire your new gowns. You must tell me, who is your modiste?’
She guided Diana to a sofa at some distance from the harpsichord, where Miss Prentiss was playing a lively sonata.
‘Ah, dear Madame Francot,’ Frances exclaimed, when Diana had replied. ‘Did Alexander send her to you? I told him she is a genius with a needle, and her creations can transform the most unpromising of subjects.’ She put her hands to her face. ‘La, pray do not take that amiss, my dear, I did not mean—that is, what I intended to say is that your colouring must be quite...daunting when it comes to purchasing new clothes.’
Diana was still basking in the memory of Alex’s smile and the barb missed its mark.
‘Red hair and freckles? I believe it is.’ She laughed. ‘However, madame was quite delighted with the challenge of finding fabrics and styles that were a little less ordinary than those suitable for her usual clientele.’
The blue eyes snapped and Diana was pleased to think she had given the lady a taste of her own medicine. She would have risen but Lady Frances put a hand on her arm to stay her.
‘There is something about you today, Miss Grensham, a certain air,’ she hissed. ‘I hope you do not think that these new gowns of yours will entice the earl. He is far too much of a connoisseur to be taken in by a few pretty clothes—’ She broke off, her eyes narrowing. ‘Or am I wrong...is that glow because he has already seduced you?’
Diana felt her cheeks burn under Frances’s close scrutiny. The fingers on her arm tightened.
‘Oh, my poor child, I am so sorry for you.’
‘There is no reason to pity me,’ Diana flashed back, but the knowing little smile about Frances’s mouth unnerved her. One hand lifted towards the emeralds and she quickly pulled it back, but Frances had seen the movement and her smile grew.
‘No? I think it was not only Madame Francot who saw you as a challenge. And who can blame the earl? After all you are here, living in his house, he would have to be made of stone to ignore what was so clearly on offer, however flawed.’
‘You go too far, madam!’
Diana rose to her feet, but Lady Frances had not finished with her.
‘Would you deny he gave you those emeralds, my dear? How very like him to ease his conscience with such a gesture.’
Without another word Diana turned and walked away. It was not true. It could not be so. These were stones from the family vault, not trinkets for some lightskirt. But the doubt remained. She continued to do her duty, a word here, a smile there, but at length she found a few moments when she was alone and could stop and survey the room. Lady Frances was on the far side, moving towards the harpsichord. She was almost gliding across the floor, her hips swaying in a provocative fashion that attracted almost every male eye. Diana glanced at Alex. He was turned away, talking to Lady Goodge, or else she had no doubt that he, too, would have been unable resist watching Lady Frances. Diana fingered the necklace. How could she have forgotten what Mr Wollerton had told her, that his friend was always generous when ending his affairs? She had a sudden urge to laugh. An affair? Their brief coupling could not even be graced with the term.
The rain had quite gone, but it had cleared the air and there was a deliciously cool breeze coming in through the open windows. Everyone was gathered about the harpsichord, where Lady Frances was entertaining them all with a lively French ditty and Diana took the opportunity to slip outside. The moon was rising, not yet full but sufficient to illuminate the landscape in shades from blue-grey to black. Diana fanned herself gently as she gazed out over the scene and breathed in the heady scents that wafted across from the flower g
ardens.
A slight movement caught her attention.
‘No, do not run away.’ Alex stepped out on to the terrace. She could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. ‘I have not been near you all evening and I cannot bear the deprivation a moment longer.’
He was standing so close that her breast was almost touching his waistcoat and she felt her body responding to him, aching to move and bridge the tiny gap between them.
‘Alex, I c-cannot, I do not want—’
He put his finger beneath her chin, turning her face up to receive his kiss and she was lost. All reason disappeared as her senses reeled again and his lips demanded her surrender. She melted against him, hands clasping at his coat, her body pressing against him, exulting in the hard, raw masculinity he exuded.
‘Will you tell me now that you do not want me?’ he murmured, his mouth close to her ear, rousing the slumbering desire deep inside.
‘No.’ She sighed, resting her cheek against his coat and feeling the thud of his heart through the soft wool. ‘I want you too much, I fear.’
A laugh rumbled in his chest and his arms tightened around her.
‘You do not know how much that pleases me. But what is this?’ His hands slid to her arms and he held her away from him, looking intently into her face. ‘What has upset you, Diana?’
She had not thought he would notice her sigh but she knew she must answer him.
‘My, my leg, sir. The scar—does it not repel you?’
He looked at her silently for a long moment, then he lifted her hand and pressed her palm against his face.
‘Does the scar on my brow repel you, my dear, or the one on my chin?’
‘No, of course not, they make you what you are.’
He smiled. ‘Exactly so.’
He kissed her again, sending the aching desire spiralling through her body. She wished they were alone in the house and they could spend the night sating their lust, but the ripple of applause from the drawing room recalled her to her duty. Reluctantly she broke off the kiss.
‘Alex, our guests. We must go in.’
She turned away, but he pulled her close until she could feel his solid chest pressing against her back.
‘Must we?’
He nibbled gently at her ear and she almost purred with the pleasure of it. His hands slid over her breasts. They hardened beneath his palms, straining for his touch. How easy it would be to give in, but the soft sound of voices in the drawing room tugged at her conscience. It was an effort to free herself but she forced herself to ignore the urgent call of her body and stepped out of reach.
‘We must,’ she said. ‘We will be missed.’
* * *
Alex observed the flushed cheeks, the eyes dark and liquid with desire, and his heart soared. He wanted to carry her off into the gardens and make love to her all over again and devil take the world, but it would not do. She put a hand up to straighten her bodice and gave a little self-conscious laugh.
‘I would not give them cause for gossip, sir.’
‘Let them gossip all they want,’ he said recklessly. ‘I would shout it to the world. Diana—’
He reached for her but she evaded him.
‘No more, my lord. I must go in. It is growing late and some of our guests might be wishing to retire. It would look odd if neither of us was there to wish them goodnight.’
He watched her turn and walk away, the light setting her hair aflame as she stepped into the drawing room. By heaven, she was beautiful! He had come out to find her with the intention of making her a formal offer of marriage, but all coherent thought had fled when he had seen her standing in the moonlight.
Later. He had promised they would talk when everyone else had gone to bed. There would be no fear of interruption then, he would lay his heart at her feet and ask her if she could love him. Perhaps tomorrow he might send Timothy to London again to bring the rest of the jewels from the vault. There might be a ring there that Diana would like to wear as a token of their betrothal. He sat down on the low stone balustrade that edged the terrace, deciding to give her a few more moments before he followed her indoors. A chance for his body to cool down.
* * *
Lady Frances was still at the harpsichord when Diana came in from the terrace, but now she was performing a duet with Mr Hamilton. Diana noted that the gentleman sang in a strong tenor voice without any sign of the stutter that affected his speech. No one had noticed Diana’s absence, they were all chattering and laughing and there was a lively air in the room, aided she suspected by the wine that had been flowing all evening.
In one corner Lord Goodge was dozing in a chair while his wife chattered away to Mrs Peters and in another Mr Wollerton and Sir Charles Urmston reclined at their ease, the glasses on the small table between them filled with an amber liquid she suspected was the earl’s best brandy. Sir Charles caught Diana’s eye and called out to her.
‘Miss Grensham, we were just talking of you.’
She smiled politely and moved closer.
‘Wollerton and I were discussing tomorrow night’s little entertainment. The earl was telling us about it earlier—I believe his wards are to dance for us.’
‘Why, yes, in the orangery,’ she replied, mildly surprised at his interest. ‘They will perform there after dinner tomorrow evening.’
‘Excellent news,’ declared Sir Charles. ‘You know of course, that little Florence is a relative of mine? Yes, her poor mama was my cousin.’ He shook his head. ‘Bad business, that, killed by her own husband, don’t you know.’
‘I understood nothing was ever proven,’ Diana replied cautiously.
‘No, no, of course not, and since nothing has been heard of Florence’s father we must suppose he is dead, and we should not speak ill of him, but these Arrandales, you know...’ He let the words hang suggestively, but when he saw her frown he laughed suddenly. ‘Enough of such sad talk. I wanted to say how glad I am to see the child so happy.’
‘Ah, very good. Capital,’ murmured Mr Wollerton, smiling blearily. ‘They are both dear little souls.’
‘I must say I have seen a great change in Davenport, too, these past few months, Miss Grensham,’ Sir Charles told her. ‘Why, he is becoming positively domestic. Never known him take an interest in children before. In fact, it wasn’t so long ago he was wishing his wards in Hades, do you remember, Wollerton?’
‘Eh?’ Mr Wollerton looked as if he had been nodding off to sleep, but he sat up when Sir Charles addressed him and blinked owlishly. ‘Oh, yes, yes. Wanted them out of Chantreys.’ He reached for his brandy. ‘No mention of it now, though.’
‘No, completely changed,’ agreed Sir Charles. He laughed. ‘Do you remember how it was, Wollerton, that night we were at cards with Davenport? He was completely blue-devilled at not being able to do as he wished at Chantreys.’ He gave Diana a conspiratorial wink. ‘Back then he was looking for all sorts of ways to persuade you to take the children away.’
‘Indeed.’ Diana kept her smile in place, but it was a struggle. She did not wish to hear this.
‘Why, yes,’ put in Mr Wollerton, his eyelids drooping. ‘He was all for moving you out at all costs.’
‘Yes, he was most put out that you were to be given the last word when it came to the children. He said the late earl considered you a more fit and proper person to look after them,’ explained Sir Charles. ‘Was that not it, sir?’
‘Aye, ’twas,’ muttered Mr Wollerton.
Sir Charles rubbed his chin. ‘Now what was it Davenport said that night? Something devilish amusing—’
His companion gave a laugh that ended with a hiccup. ‘I’ll tell you what it was, Urmston. He said, “Seduce the wench and send her packing.” That was it.’
Sir Charles started and cast a horrified look at Diana.
&
nbsp; ‘No, no, sir. You must have that wrong,’ he said quickly. ‘I am sure he would never—Miss Grensham, take no notice of Wollerton, he is foxed—’
‘No, no,’ continued that gentleman with the dogged determination of the very drunk, ‘I remember distinctly. Those were his words—or somebody’s—’
Sir Charles jumped up.
‘Nonsense old fellow, you must be dreaming. Do excuse me, Miss Grensham, I think I should take Wollerton off to bed now. Pray ignore his ramblings, it is all nonsense, nonsense.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Diana stood back as Sir Charles dragged Wollerton from his chair and helped him away.
* * *
Diana could never remember how she got through the rest of the evening. The final hour dragged and while she kept her smile in place, inside her rage was building. How could she have been such a fool? Of course she had never meant anything to Alex. With his wealth and position he could choose from amongst the most beautiful women in society, and everyone agreed he was a connoisseur in these matters. He had merely been amusing himself with her. Worse, it had all been an act, a charade to remove her and the children from Chantreys. Even the guests he had invited to this house party were undoubtedly part of his plan. Bachelors to try to win her hand and if that failed and he had to seduce her, the likes of Lord and Lady Goodge were the more respectable of Alex’s acquaintances, invited so that the outrage and condemnation at her disgrace would be all the greater. No wonder Alex was not concerned about gossip, he wanted her ruin to be known. Diana felt quite sick.
She wanted to retire, to go to her bedchamber and cry her eyes out, but she forced herself to remain until the last of the party had gone. She and Alex were alone, save for the footman who was silently and methodically closing the long windows.
Diana clasped her hands together tightly.
‘May we go to your study, my lord? I would like to speak to you privately.’
Silently he followed her across the hall. Candles still burned in the branched stick on the study desk, although one was guttering badly and Alex went across to trim the wick. Diana watched him, remembering those same hands on her body, caressing her. The thought only deepened her agony.
